


Well in the Suffering

by delicate_mageflower



Series: It Means Tumult Universe [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Ableism, Abuse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, I don't typically do angst for angst's sake but, Kanders Angst, Lobotomy, M/M, Mental Illness, Modern Thedas, Neurodivergent Character(s), Obvious Metaphors, Suicide, Systematic Abuse, The Gallows, There is no excuse for this, institutionalization, star-crossed lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 15:26:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9390977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/delicate_mageflower/pseuds/delicate_mageflower
Summary: Anders is coming for him at long last, and Karl can't wait.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [therealmnemo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealmnemo/gifts).



> CW: institutionalisation, abuse, forced medication/surgery, suicide

_Anders is coming._

That thought and that thought alone had come to get Karl through the night, had become his only shining light in this desolate hole they called the Gallows, nicknamed ever so appropriately.

_Anders is coming._

That thought filled Karl with a hope more intense than anything he’d ever felt before, but there it was, and it was beautiful. Things were getting worse by the day, yes, but he could tell himself he wouldn’t have to endure it much longer. Because he wouldn’t, he knew he wouldn’t, he knew Anders wouldn’t let him. Anders did it, he’d gotten free just like Karl always knew he would, and he was coming for him so they could be free together, just like they’d always promised.

Anders would be coming for him, and there was nothing more important than that.

Karl was grateful for the one guard, Samson, who appeared to have some actual human decency to him, an occurrence most uncommon amongst Circle staff. At the very least, he made sure Anders’s letters got through, and he made sure Karl’s letters to Anders got out. He didn’t say anything about that part to Anders, though, didn’t let on how isolated he was meant to be. He was just so happy to have this. He’d never truly stopped believing it would come, had never stopped believing that Anders would make it out of Kinloch and that he would find Karl again after he escaped for good. And he did it, he really fucking did it.

_Anders is coming._

He let that thought guide him through every stretch of the Void that still laid before him, that knowledge that at least it would be coming to an end.

It made the days move faster, the world around him feel less hectic, the violence and the chaos almost monotonous. Nothing could touch him. Anders had a plane ticket and he was working out the details on what he was going to do with himself once he arrived, but he was coming, that was confirmed. Neither of them knew exactly what the next step would be, how Anders was going to get Karl and run with him, but he was going to. Karl had known, he had always fucking known it would one day come to this, but finding out for a fact was still strangely surreal. It was nice to dream and painful to wonder, but he no longer had to. Anders never forgot about him. Anders still cared. Anders would be coming.

He had so much to tell him, too. Like how the Gallows was a terrifying Void of inescapable horror, but that its reputation in comparison to Kinloch actually seemed unjust, and that made him want to do something about it. It made him want to fight when he got free. Because he would be, he would be free, because Anders was coming for him.

He had no idea what made Anders decide to try to contact him to begin with, given that very reputation. He had no idea what made Anders think he would even have a chance, what made him want to take that risk. He knew why, though, when he thought about it. Anders had loved him when they were together, so long ago, no matter how afraid he had been to say it. Anders had loved him and Karl had loved him so much in return, and he knew then that Anders must never have stopped, just as he had never stopped loving Anders.

So much time had passed, but things had started moving in the right direction. Things were finally going the way they were supposed to go. He was just so thankful it had been Samson who’d intercepted Anders’s first message.

_Anders is coming._

That thought saved him time and again since it had become reality, that thought could get him through most things.

He still found himself fearing for what life outside a tower would look like, though. He didn’t know how to be a person, he only knew how to be a thing, for that was all he ever truly had been at the end of the day. It gave him hope that Anders could help him on that count, at least. Not only because Anders would surely have acquired some experience in learning to feel human, himself, but because Karl had always been a person when he was with Anders. Still, he didn’t know how much he could do for the things he had seen in his time at the Gallows.

He wasn’t sure how much worse than Kinloch it really was, that was true, but they were far more overt about it, which was probably the cause of its infamy. Not worse, not necessarily, but much louder.

Karl remembered his peers at Kinloch, remembered the unforgivable things he’d heard them talk about, what he would learn had been done to them. At the Gallows, though, Karl watched. They did not hide, they did not give any false impression of their intentions. He once laughed right in some guard’s face about how he knew what to expect already, cackling in his manic state over the element of surprise being lost. It didn’t make the beating he took from that hurt any less, but it at least made it funny to him at the time.

Things had also started deteriorating there in a whole new way, though, thanks to the person at the very top. Commander Stannard, they called her, and it always made Karl’s blood boil how their fucking security team were ranked like soldiers. That had always felt like a statement in itself, a not-so-subtle reminder that they were subjects and their very lives were under Chantry occupation. And Stannard, she was something, even by their standards. She’d been there longer than he had, but he had seen the way she changed as time went on, how the longer she stayed in charge the more it went to her head, the more power she claimed. She had no right to do some of the things she did, Karl knew. Chantry law was archaic and oppressive, but it did still have its limits. Stannard, however, did not.

Time moved slowly, but it moved as long as Karl kept getting letters from Anders, it moved a little faster every time he held a promise in his hands.

_Anders is coming._

The words would burn in his mind, they bounced around and around and around in echoes, and it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever known. He hoped he wasn’t presuming too much, of course, he hoped that Anders wanted to start right back where they left off just as much as he did. Neither of them had yet said, all they knew was that Anders was heading to Kirkwall, and that he would be there for him as soon as he could manage. That would get him by, he was certain.

Still, Karl had actually cried when he saw Elsa again for the first time after Stannard had her sent to Dr. Alrik. It seemed that man only had one job there, and that was to destroy the minds of those whom the power deemed unruly, which appeared to have a very loose definition attached. Elsa was the first Karl saw personally, but she was not the last. She would be far from the last to forcibly undergo lobotomies by Alrik’s hands, that was all too clear.

It made him latch onto Anders’s promise that much harder, though, because of the rage it instilled in him. He and Anders had talked about it in Kinloch sometimes, too, how whenever they escaped they wouldn’t stay silent. They couldn’t stay silent, not after everything they had seen and experienced firsthand. They could tell the world after they were part of it, could tell everyone who would believe them about what really goes on behind closed doors, what exactly the Chantry allowed and even encouraged. He still held firmly onto that drive they’d shared back then, and he couldn’t imagine Anders would feel any differently about it than he had in those days. Anders had always had that drive, had always had a spark, it was simply a part of him, and a part of what had drawn Karl in. And Karl couldn’t wait to get out of there, to get the chance to tear that place down from the outside the way he’d never be able to from where he was, with Anders by his side.

He almost laughed to himself thinking about it on the way back to his room from another forced bullshit group session, although he was abruptly stopped in his tracks by Elsa as she slowly inched her way out of the infirmary. She had a new black eye. It was not her first since her visit to Dr. Alrik, and Karl knew it would not be her last.

“Hello, Karl,” she told him in a detached monotone. He was staring, but he was still surprised she spoke to him. People stared at her all the time since her procedure, and she didn’t usually seem to notice. Not even to mention that it was easy to forget she’d retained the ability to speak when there were others in their ward who had been subjected to the same thing as she and had not done the same.

“Oh, umm, hi,” he responded, not sure what else to do. “Uh, how are you?”

“I am…” She trailed off, the closest to an inflection she’d get, and that was that.

“Sorry,” he said awkwardly. “I should be going.”

“It’s okay, they’re coming to you,” she responded in that same chilling voice. “You’ll be like me soon.”

He smiled and shrugged uncomfortably, and he walked away without another word. He couldn’t even think about it, the very idea was so abhorrent. He didn’t have much, but at least he had himself. He had his own mind, his own voice, his own opinions. These were the things the Circle had not been able to take away from him, things he had held onto despite how many others they had taken such things from them, even without going so far as to do it surgically as they had with Elsa. The thought crept in on him that his resilience would actually make him a perfect candidate to follow in her footsteps, though. He shuddered slightly, he couldn’t think about it. He wouldn’t think about it.

_Anders is coming._

He looked forward to Anders’s arrival like nothing else, looked forward to everything that would mean, including finding a way to get justice for Elsa, for everyone who had gone through what she had and more. For Anders, too, and for everyone who had gone through the same travesties he had. Karl had experienced his share of it in Kinloch, too, but not like Anders. He always thought they did that deliberately, to add a psychological component, that extra drop of hurt they’d always find a way to slip in whenever and wherever they could. There were others who had shared in Anders’s experiences who did not have Anders’s history of insubordination, that was a fact they had both known well. However, even before the details were discovered, it was no secret that he and Anders were close, so it had always made sense to him that he was spared those same horrors just so Anders would know, just so Anders would be all that much more likely to blame himself for what they did to him. And it only ever made Karl that much angrier when he thought on how fucking well it had worked.

_Anders is coming._

He longed to be able to hold him in his arms again, to kiss him and tell him everything would be okay. Because it would be, he was sure, once they were together again. He could tell him how he felt at long last once they were face to face. He vaguely remembered actually saying those three words to Anders when they were getting ready to move him, but he couldn’t be sure. He’d been high as a kite on Maker only knows what kinds of drugs to keep him subdued, but he could still recall the way Anders fell apart watching him go.

No, that wouldn’t do. He needed to tell him sincerely, without anything else to get in their way, in a place where Anders might also finally feel safe enough to say it, too, at least also without the help of the drugs that had too often been forced on them.

_Anders is coming._

They were allowed back into their rooms at last, and he decided he needed that reminder, needed to feel the words in his hands, to touch the letters Anders wrote to him.

He lifted up his mattress as soon as he reached it, but the letters weren’t there. Nothing was there.

“Oh shit,” he muttered under his breath, suddenly terrified. He dropped the mattress and hopped up on top of it when he heard the door to the room close. There was no way they didn’t see that, but it was probably too late, and Elsa’s ominous statement reverberated in his head. He tried to tell himself it wasn’t real, that couldn’t be what was happening.

He wouldn’t let them do this to him.

He felt numb when Captain Rutherford sat him down to tell him of his upcoming appointment with Dr. Alrik. Everything around him started to fall apart while he explained to Karl what he little could. He didn’t give a reason, only that the orders were from Stannard. He didn’t need to give a reason. He didn’t actually tell Karl what that appointment meant, either, what they were going to do to him. He only said that it was going to help him, to calm his mind. He claimed it was to bring him a sense of “tranquility,” as he called it, and that alone made Karl want to punch him. Just like the rest of it, though, he didn’t need to elaborate. He spoke to him with such finality he would have figured it out even if he hadn’t so fatefully bumped into Elsa just moments prior. Of course Karl had looked at her in fear before. Of course he had looked at her and cringed at the idea of why they might have done it to her, of what that could mean for him, but he’d always managed to tell himself it wasn’t him, that it could never be him. He’d always been able to force himself to believe it before, but now…

Rutherford had also transferred from Kinloch, and Karl wondered if he remembered him. That could not have helped his case. Karl felt his mind go, its attempt at convincing himself throughout the whole speech that none of it was real, that none of this was truly happening. That could not have helped his case, either.

He still could not let them to do this to him. Silently he begged, he fucking prayed that this was just a nightmare, that he would soon wake up. For this to be real, of course, would mean that he would have to move onto desperate measures. The timing wouldn’t work, the timing wasn’t right. Rutherford said he had a day before the surgery he could not describe, probably also on orders, leaving so much for that element of surprise Karl had once joked about wanting. That wasn’t enough time to stop it, except…

He took a deep breath as he came back to himself once he was alone again, took a deep breath when the reality hit him and every fucking feeling he could possibly have after that assailed him all at once.

_Anders is coming._

That promise, all he had, the crutch he could no longer support himself without. He tried to remind himself of that hope, but it was of no use.

Anders was coming, yes, but he wouldn’t get there in time. He didn’t see another way out. He wouldn’t let them get away with this. He had to find a way.

Anders would understand, Anders would have to understand. Anders would do the same in his position, he had no doubt. He would also never forgive himself for not being there sooner, Karl regretted that much, and he wished there was a way he could tell him that he didn’t need to blame himself, that there was nothing he could have done. Samson was gone, though, Rutherford had revealed that, too; his sympathy had cost him his job and no one else was going to help him there. No one else was going to do anything and in any case, by then he was too afraid to ask. He wished he could tell Anders goodbye, that he still missed him so much every single day, that he loved him so much even after all this time. He didn’t know if that would make things better or worse, though; maybe it was okay that it didn’t matter.

Anders was coming but Karl was going, and they would just barely miss each other. They had been so close, hope had been so near, but it clearly was not meant to be. At least this way Anders would remember who he was, this way there would never be any risk of Anders having to see the husk they wanted to turn him into, because they were never going to get that chance. He couldn’t bear the thought, it was too much. He would rather die than let them mangle him that way, than allow them to commit this particular atrocity. So that’s what it was going to be.

One interesting difference between Kinloch and the Gallows was that at least in Kinloch they generally pretended to care if their prisoners lived or died. They would at least try to keep dangerous objects out of reach, they would at least try to intervene whenever an attempt was made. The Gallows could not say the same. Karl found his way into an “off-limits” section of the infirmary easily enough. He didn’t know if anyone saw, but no one stopped him and that was all he cared about. He wasn’t convinced that meant he’d gone undetected, but that only strengthened his resolve. The Circle was murder—any Circle, all Circles—and that was far from the first time he’d had that exact thought come to mind but it had never before felt so personal, so literal. He wouldn’t let them have this, though, he wouldn’t let them have him. His response would be his final defiance, the ultimate gesture of “fuck you,” his last stand to at least hold onto what little autonomy he had for the rest of his life. All he was doing was refusing to become a puppet, and that was something Anders would absolutely have to understand. A quick glance, only the briefest search around the room he’d found, and he could instantly see it offered him no short supply of adequate tools. This had been far too easily accessible, this wasn’t nearly as difficult as it should have been. That was how much they cared, and in that moment it only made him that much more sure of himself.

He wished he could tell Anders not to come. He wished he could tell him to change his itinerary, to run the other way, to go literally anywhere else but Kirkwall. He wished there was a way to give him any reason in the world not to look for him. He didn’t know if there would ever be anything he could say that would actually work, but it didn’t matter. He wouldn’t get the chance.

It wasn’t himself he was thinking of when his knees hit the floor, so overcome by emotion that he began to weep into his hands at the thought of what he was about to do. He was far too loud but in that moment it was impossible to stop it, impossible to quiet himself. Although if anyone heard him, there was no attempt at intervention. If there was anyone in the vicinity, anyone who could hear, he would never know, which again made him feel more at ease about the fact that he was never again going to see anything outside this room.

He was at peace with that part, with what it meant for him, that much was true. He wanted to rush under the circumstance, he couldn’t bear to leave even the smallest risk of letting them get to him first. He was already strangely okay with what was about to happen to him, and he did not mourn for himself. No, it was only Anders who came to mind, how much Anders was going to hurt, how it was that very thought that had kept him from doing this so many times before. He had always known that Anders would be coming someday, had always known that what was between them was unbreakable, and that hope had kept him going for so long. If nothing else, there was something to be said for the confirmation that after all those years of pining, all those years of believing, he had been irrefutably proven right.

He always knew Anders was coming, but the Maker had a sick sense of humour. So Karl steadied, took a breath, and as he rose back up onto his feet, as he readied himself for his next move, he thought on his words, on precisely how he intended to curse the Maker straight to his face when he saw him.

“I’m so sorry, Anders,” he whispered to himself, compelled to say it out loud even knowing Anders would never hear. “Don’t blame yourself for this. I love you.”

Those would be the last words he ever spoke.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so this isn't _really_ Mnemo's fault but I need to blame _someone,_ so...
> 
> Title simply because [this song](https://youtu.be/XnABRPS37hk) started playing in my head out of nowhere while I was trying to think of one and it just sort of stuck.
> 
> With much love and thanks to [fereldandoglord](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fereldandoglord) for enduring this, both as beta reader and friend.


End file.
